


i feel my luck could change

by hissingmiseries



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Heavy Angst, Jealousy, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 11:59:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8488549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hissingmiseries/pseuds/hissingmiseries
Summary: Somebody has to leave first. It's an age-old story, with no other versions or addendums. And he loves him— my god, he loves him— but he will leave eventually. Or, the Whites have talons, and Robert's caught. Aaron's scared they'll carry him away.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Erm.... so I think this is the result of being super emotional about absolutely nothing.
> 
> Title is from _Lucky_ by Radiohead, one of the most bitter and sarcastic songs in existence.

"Rebecca double-crossed me," Robert snaps, the round of his jaw tensing. The table takes the brunt of his words, the anger of each syllable sneaking into the wood grain so they don't burn Aaron's ears too harshly. They're almost red with mention of the Whites. "I trusted her."

"Dunno why," Aaron says, shoving a chip into his mouth. "What good 'ave they ever done for you?"

"I thought she'd be different. I thought she'd be on my side."

"Think about 'er a lot, do ya?" he remarks bitterly. Robert glares at him, unimpressed, and he sinks lower in his seat and takes a swallow of his pint, drowning all the words that threaten to pour out of him. "What next then, genius? Any more plans?"

Robert gives him that look, one that could sour milk in the carton and plays with his coaster. "Get Andy in the clear."

"Aye. Good to know it's simple this time." He's in a mood today. Most of the time he turns that mood in on himself, but there are days when his insides have taken enough abuse that they've grown to become leather and it's somebody else's turn to take the brunt of it all. It typically ends up being Robert, as it always did. They're healthy like that. "How're ya gonna do it?"

"I don't know yet."

"Well, you've been doin' it for months." He can't stop himself. He can see each bruise being inflicted with each word but he can't stop. "You'd think you've 'ad got somewhere by now."

"What's up with you today?" Robert frowns, a cherub frown, one of someone who genuinely can't see what they're doing wrong. Aaron used to find Robert's obliviousness adorable. Used to. 

"Nothin'," he lies, taking another drink, not trusting himself to tell the truth. "I'm just sick of the Whites always bein' around us. They always seem to be there."

Robert softens, brushes his leg against Aaron's under the table in a show of comfort. "My fault for marrying one of them."

He doesn't disagree.  _Especially when you could have chosen me._

 

 

 

The Whites are toxic. They live in a big house on the hill and look down their noses at everyone, tread their feet into the dirt too hard with each step like they're determined to leave their imprint, to let people know that they were there like the sour taste they leave in people's mouths isn't enough of a reminder. 

They leave their mark on Robert in the form of the hole in his wallet, in the wrinkles near his eyes, in the lack of his baby brother at the dinner table every holiday. 

 _Rebecca needs me_ , he says one day, seeing the text on his phone.  _round the back of the pub,_ it reads.  _come quickly x_.

She's there, of course, hat angled on her head and her eyes looking up at him with empty hope. "I'm sorry," she greets him with. "I wasn't thinking."

"Of course you weren't," Robert grumbles. "Why would you?"

"Oh, come on, Robert, it's not like the world has ended." Each syllable's overly articulate, grindingly posh, painful to Robert's ears after so much time around the brashness of the Dingles' tongue. "So everybody knows what Lachlan did. He can't stay in the village now, and Chrissie and Dad will probably go with him-"

"Will _you_ go with them?"

She pauses, examining his trap. "Do you want me to?"

He goes to speak but the words don't come out. She misreads him, he realises, when a smirk crosses her lips.

 

 

 

They argue a lot nowadays. They've argued before, they'll argue again, but something about now feels heated. There's venom in their words, acid in their insults like they want to strip the skin from each other's bones.

("Aaron, you're being childish."

"Good to know."

"I don't get what you're so angry about— you were  _helping_ me with this a few months ago."

"Yeah, back when it was 'armless! Back when I didn't 'ave to worry about you gettin' in too deep."

"I was _always_ in too deep.")

Liv's in the next room, her television blaring at full volume, and Chas has undeniably rummaged around her bedside drawer and pulled out her earplugs. They're opposite sides of the bed, glaring at each other in the grey light of dusk.

("My brother's on the run because of her, and I hope you're not expecting me to just let him spend the rest of his life like that because he doesn't deserve it—"

"Y'know, to say ya hate them so much, ya sure as 'ell don't make much of an effort to avoid them."

"What's that supposed to mean?")

There are two shapeless dips in the mattress where they were lying just minutes before, their limbs tangled together, Aaron's head against Robert's golden chest, listening to the thrumming of his heart. Robert had mentioned her name, and Aaron hadn't been able to stop himself.

("You're _marryin_ ' me, Rob."

"That's nothing new."

"But you're still with _them_. Ya always talk about them, it's like ya can't get enough."

"It's not like that, Aaron. You know what they're like, they sink their teeth in and they don't let go. Andy's walking proof of that."

"So are you.")

 

 

 

Robert storms out, takes the couch for the night. Aaron stays to watch over his overflowing self. He ticks every box; wary, cautious, parsimonious. He knows his own dependence, his compulsion for pessimism, for distrust. Robert knows it too. He knows every crease and every fold of Aaron, more than everyone ever has and probably ever will. They're both so used to exploring each other and peeling back each other's layers post-coitus, surrounded by either bales of hay or purple bedsheets, too tired and dizzy to put their guards up. But that's voluntary, that's allowed. They can keep eyes on their tongues, and watch the other's face if they say something neither of them expect. It's moments like this when it grows dangerous; when they're arguing, when they're clawing at each other's hearts and they're scared of digging too hard for fear of what might come leaking out.

Robert apologises in fingertips and teeth the next night.

He holds him a little too hard. Normally when they fuck, it's not rough and dirty unless one of them asks for it, pleads for it against the other's shoulder. This time it's asked for silently. Aaron pushes himself back against Robert, balls the duvet in his fists and Robert responds by tightening his arm across Aaron's chest and dragging him closer. The headboard hammers itself into the wall, glaringly obvious but neither of them care.

They lie there for hours later, drenched in each other's sweat. 

 

 

 

Chrissie approaches them at the bar, the billowy sleeves of her shirt dancing around her wrists, her face twisted into a permanent sneer. Aaron can't help but think that despite her actions, she's not entirely to blame; he remembers that day she came to him for Robert's car, back when her hair was long and her smile genuine. Back before his and Robert's secret reached the light. Back before there was even a secret in the first place.

Trust him to twist the blame onto himself.

Robert starts twitching. A telltale sign that he's about to say something provocative. "How's Lachlan?"

Her face darkens. "Why do you care?"

"Just want to know how he's doing," he continues, adding a casual shrug for effect. "Now that he knows he's going down for a very long time."

"It was Andy." Her words are steel, like she's trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

"Andy would never do that."

"I don't know. He _is_ your brother. I've heard all the stories, Robert. What was her name again— Katie?"

She smirks, basking in her upper hand and Aaron can practically see Robert's high horse collapsing and dying beneath him. He braces himself, ready for the anger, knowing what storm is going to come next. 

 

 

 

Their relationship is a like a lab rat, Aaron finds, the one that helps find the cure; reaches its peak then regresses back to simplicity, and he can't decide what's worse. To not know what they could be and be content, or to become more than he ever thought they could be then take three steps back.

Their peak wasn't a moment that he can put his finger on, but the little snippets that he treasures— the first time Robert came down his stairs and to the breakfast table like he'd been doing it for years, the feeling of Robert's messy tufts of hair beneath his fingers, that time they found themselves splayed out across each other on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between them, Robert's fingers tracing patterns up and down the skin of Aaron's arm, breath tickling the back of his neck. 

The three steps back came in that stupid fucking helicopter, with her stupid fucking hats and her stupid fucking lack of respect for everything they've worked for, everything they've been through.

 

 

 

He sees them one day, outside the pub on the picnic benches.

She's close, too close for comfort and though Aaron can see the twinges of discomfort on Robert's face he doesn't trust himself, he's not sure if he trusts _him_.

He keeps out of sight to avoid one of those cheesy lingering looks over the road and watches. Watches her bat her eyelashes, curl her hair around her fingers and cross her legs; he can't read flirting to save his life but she's obvious, pathetically obvious.

 _I trust you_ , he thinks.  _I trust you I trust you I trust you. Please don't let me down._

Somebody has to leave first. It's an age-old story, with no other versions or addendums. And he loves him— my god, he loves him— but he will leave eventually. Aaron knows it. It's what he thinks about in the early hours of the morning, when his fiancé's curled up on the other side of the bed with his back turned, or when he's said something he regrets and Robert's peeled away from him, a look in his eyes that has Aaron's heart racing with the fear that he's finally scared him away. 

Rebecca's painted lips move, say something, and Robert looks interested. It's probably something about how they can work together on this, how they can pull back Andy's freedom, but Aaron's mind adds on promises of something illicit and yeah, he'll ask Robert about it later and Robert will give him an answer. He's an amazing liar. Whether Aaron decides to believe him is another story.

_I trust you. I love you._

He has nightmares of the Whites tearing him away, of how easy it could be to do.

_I trust you._

_I trust you._

_I trust you._


End file.
